In our pockets, receipts and machines   In our estate the lift doesn't work   Work gets hard, 'cos here it's meant to be   In our flunky fingers, silver rings and sweat   From all that worried waiting for things to happen   You know they should, if only they would   But in our heads, visions of getting beat up in back alleyways   Too much mincing about   London's schemes devalue its youth   It's inside your burning veins   I'm in love with the solidarity that no longer exists   The 80's soul boy misunderstood letters   All those obscure books and films and 45s   Let convictions strengthen love for you, more than you can know      In our bones it feels like I'm going cold, physically   Am I disappearing from sight?    No friends, or lovers, or letters   In our hearts a secret    Behind phone box language   Bugs in the tap   'Cos there are no secrets kept hidden in this big city   In our mouths contempt, tops of alcoholic lies dribbling proletarian junk, like a spastic   Every year you get a little sadder, a little drunker   A little more violent, cynical, waiting for direction or a new discipline   In our pants, hard cocks, a ruffian on the stairs   Writing dirty words in Archway   "So the only reason you play bad guitar is to get a bad reaction   All this clone collective band shit hides your boredom, contempt, and no ideas"   Our only ambition is just to die      Solidarity with other bands is good, we have no ideas   In our palms, silver rings to give to young brides   Kept safe for now, in our souls poor decisions wait   Inside creeping out, pushing you forward into    an abyss of future uncertainty, of torture, treated cloth   Climbing like a monkey to reach the top of stairs, lift broken down   Get into the car, (?)   Go home quickly 'cos we have no ideas      In discos chatting up girls, dropping gins, slurring stupid words,    Nicotine fingers reaching out   Go home and listen to your cracking needle records in stained sleeves   Put it all into unfocused clarity   Estates all over London full of despair and violence   Loud radios are settling our nerves   We look to get back into tubes and chords    We sing and cry all night   And in the morning it starts again, and again, and again      Makes the guitar snap, all through the pissed-up slumber   Your body is getting colder, there's no more purpose   Lost, nowhere to go, have they chucked you out of school?   Made you clean the parks?   I wanted to be a monkey, not end up a cartoon      We have no ideas